


shutterbug

by cibmata



Category: Video Blogging RPF, supermega
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Photography, ryan is a photographer and matt is his muse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-24 23:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22466212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cibmata/pseuds/cibmata
Summary: The thing is, Ryan adores Matt. He hesitates to call anyone hismuse, but if anyone could be considered exactly that, it’d be Matt.
Relationships: Ryan Magee/Matt Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	shutterbug

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBeachEpisode](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBeachEpisode/gifts).



> an old kofi commission for a wonderful friend!! generally unedited, popping it up for archival purposes mainly. i don't go here but these boys are sweet

Prepping for a shoot is easy by now. 

It’s second nature to get his lights set up in the rented studio in Bed-Stuy, to set up a tripod that he almost never uses. Handheld is his go-to — it adds _character,_ leaves room to be flexible and that’s how he gets his best shots, even when a client asks for a fixed angle.

What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

Today, though, Ryan isn’t working for a client. It’s a _passion project,_ something he so rarely has time for but he’d had this opening late one Sunday afternoon that just happened to line up with his favourite subject’s time off.

Matt had been more than happy to make the journey from his closet of an apartment in Bay Ridge. He always is. 

The thing is, Ryan adores Matt. He hesitates to call anyone his _muse,_ but if anyone could be considered exactly that, it’d be Matt. He’s all long lines and angles, sharp jaw and soft eyes that light up when he laughs. This crooked smile that he has, after many, many shots of tequila, admitted to being self-conscious about.

But Ryan loves his smile. And he’d said as much because he, too, had tossed back what could probably be considered an irresponsible amount of tequila.

He remembers Matt going pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, abruptly and uncharacteristically shy, and mumbling something about how he loves _Ryan’s_ smile and _shut up, dude, don’t be gay._

He can’t help it, is the thing.

So he’s got his studio set up for the shoot and he’s tying up his hair when Matt comes bustling in, ten minutes late but perfectly on time for him. Ryan has learned by now that if he wants Matt to show up on time, he has to tell him they're starting half an hour earlier than he's intended to. 

He’s got him figured out, mostly.

“Hey bun-boy,” Matt says, slapping at Ryan’s bun and then at his ass. He does this every goddamn time and it should be annoying. A lot of things about Matt should be annoying.

“Sit your dumb ass down,” Ryan snaps, kicking tepidly at his ankle. He would never hit Matt for real, no; he’s a _model,_ he needs every part of his weird spindly body in perfect working order.

Matt snorts but drops his bag by the door and sucks back the rest of his iced coffee all in one go. 

“What’re we doing today?” He’s shrugging off his jacket — visibly expensive, probably lifted from a shoot — and dropping that on top of his bag, toeing off his shoes as he talks. “Your lights aren’t on yet.” 

Ryan makes a point not to watch him directly. It’s a little bit like looking at the sun, sometimes. So bright that his stupid, crooked smile leaves imprints on the backs of Ryan’s eyelids.

“The sun is good,” he mutters, pretending to fuck with his camera instead of looking at him. He doesn’t know why he’s being so fucking weird today, except that the sun is, like, really good. And it’s making Matt in particular look really, _really_ good.

Matt hums and pads across the studio, takes his place on a stool in front of a set of loose drapes hung along the back wall. They’re cream-coloured, but they’re shooting in black and white today so anything would’ve done. Matt makes anything look good anyway.

Ryan physically shakes his head as if he could force any of these very dumb, very soft thoughts out of his brain through his ears. 

He’s not feeling like himself, admittedly. Or maybe he’s just feeling the _most_ himself. Which isn’t something he wants to admit at all.

“Glasses on or off?” Matt calls. Ryan glances at him, measures exactly how masochistic he’s feeling today.

“Off,” he decides, because he hates himself.

Matt tosses his glasses carelessly across the hardwood. Ryan rolls his eyes expansively.

The shoot starts off easy, because they always do. Matt knows exactly how to angle himself, to tilt his head and lift one shoulder and peer just off camera with this vexingly smouldering look that isn’t _him,_ exactly. There’s a facade that he pulls every time there’s a camera on him that makes him very good at what he does.

But that’s not what Ryan wants right now.

He gets through four or five carefully placed test shots and manages not to lose his absolute shit when Matt’s shoulder hikes up enough to let his shirt slide down, just a bit, to expose the hollow line of his collarbone. He’s cast in this perfect golden light from the window so that Matt is gilded, gorgeous, and entirely infuriating.

Ryan takes a breath. A real deep one, because otherwise he’s gonna pass out.

“Ma-tty,” he starts, in his best, highest-pitched voice. “Mat _ty,_ hey bu-ddy, what’s-,”

“ _Dude._ ”

The second Matt breaks character, the second his stupid, perfect face splits into that stupid, perfect grin, Ryan snaps a photo. And then a couple more, just for good measure.

“The fuck is wrong with you,” Matt says, turning his head away and pressing his fist to his mouth as if he could hide how wide he’s smiling.

Ryan snaps another few photos. The arch of Matt’s neck is outrageously gorgeous from this angle, where Ryan’s dropped to his knees just a little too close to be safe. Matt’s been known to flail fists and feet at him and his lanky arms and legs are long enough that Ryan is decidedly in the danger zone right about now.

“Maaaa _ttyyyyy,_ ” he coos, and before he can even think, Matt lunges off the stool.

Ryan ends up flat on his back on the hardwood, camera still clutched precariously in one hand, with Matt settled across his hips. Straddling him.

Okay. Okay. This is fine, probably.

“What’re you trying to do, huh?” Matt hums, and he’s still grinning. Still grinning but it’s sharper now and his eyes are sharper too, focused and too intense for Ryan to do much but stare back up at him.

“Uh,” he says intelligently.

“I know your game,” Matt says, settling more comfortably in what is essentially Ryan’s lap. “Trying to get those coveted Matt Smile Pics for your spank-bank, right?”

Ryan’s mouth is sort of dry. Sort of very dry. His heart is thudding wildly in his chest.

“Uh… huh,” he agrees.

He should make a joke. He should be making a joke about now except Matt’s not quite smiling anymore and there’s something _there,_ something that is familiar only because Ryan is pretty sure he’s had that look on his own face before.

“We’ve been dancing around this for a while, maybe,” Matt says. Ryan’s heart stalls, skips, starts again.

He gurgles, kind of. Words are sort of not a thing he can make happen about now.

And then Matt grins again. Softer this time but just as barbed and oh, _oh,_ Ryan wants a photo of that smile. One that he would never, ever share with anyone else.

“Put that down,” Matt murmurs, brushing his fingertips along Ryan’s forearm, and Ryan nearly throws his camera across the floor in his rush to let it go.

He doesn’t think about the solid _thunk_ it makes when it hits the hardwood. He doesn’t think much at all because oh, fuck, Matt’s leaning down and in and —

And then they’re kissing, because of course they are, because it was always going to be this way. It was always going to be Ryan wanting and wishing and waiting until Matt, stupid, gorgeous, observant Matt, made the first move.

Ryan whimpers into his mouth, like a bitch. Matt laughs against his teeth.

And it doesn’t end like that, no. It starts that way, with Matt claiming what has always been his until finally, _finally,_ Ryan heaves him up and over and onto his back and then he’s the one taking what’s _his._

“I hate waiting for your bitch ass to catch up to me,” Matt murmurs against his lips, tangling his fingers in Ryan’s bun and pulling the tie free.

And Ryan kisses him again. Just to shut him up.

It’s just that. Totally.


End file.
